


Reciprocity

by floss



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Boot Worship, M/M, boot kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floss/pseuds/floss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With deliberate slowness, he slid his foot down until it was pressed instead against the tensed muscles of Damen's abdomen. They were riding boots, soft leather soles made to slide easily out of a stirrup and warmed by Laurent's skin, hugging perfectly to the shape of him but for the little bit of give at the ankle, which was creased supple with use.</p>
<p>Laurent asked, lightly, "Will you brace it for me?"</p>
<p>"Yes," Damen said. He felt out of breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reciprocity

"Well?"

Not even the impatient arch of Laurent's pale eyebrow could detract from the view. In fact, Damen thought, it enhanced it. In the lamplight, set against the crisp white of the bedclothes and the dark fabric of his pants, the milky skin of Laurent's bare arms and chest seemed warmer, accentuated by the hint of a flush that spread flatteringly across his cheeks. Even his hair seemed artfully tousled. And it was art, this tableau. Better than art: with enough skill, any fevered imagination could produce an approximation of this scene--the inviting bend of the knee, the gentle curl of fingers on the pillow beside his cheek--but it was the arch of the eyebrow and the subtle quirk of the lips that made it Laurent.

Damen stood at the foot of the bed, Laurent's undershirt still skin-warm in his hand, until Laurent's smile deepened and his eyes, dark with pupil, gleamed in amusement. 

"Are you waiting for permission?"

"I'm enjoying the scenery."

"Come here."

Damen dropped the undershirt and climbed up the bed, where Laurent's limbs lifted and spread to make room and then closed around him in welcome. His lips, already pink with kissing, were soft when Damen returned to them, and his fingers were gentle but practised as they pulled the pin from his chiton.

"Here," Damen murmured after a moment, taking the pin and setting it with a faint scrape of metal on stone on the table beside the bed. Laurent took advantage of the distance between their bodies this produced to pull at the fine white cotton, tugging first at Damen's front and then, when he found the edge of it, at his side.

"It's so," Laurent said, "Impractical. All this fabric."

Damen laughed, surprised. "You have so many _laces_."

"But you can see where they are," Laurent said, pulling the last of the cloth from Damen's waist with a neat flick before dropping it to the floor. "With this - it looks small so I unwind it a little, and then I unwind it more, and suddenly I find myself in possession of an entire bedsheet." He paused. "Is that what it's for? Backup?"

Damen stared at him.

Laurent used the interlude that silence gave him to run his hands over Damen's newly-bared skin, instilling his chest and thighs and back with a distractingly pleasant tingle.

"You're quiet."

Damen swallowed and sunk down again, elbows braced so that they were flush from chest to hip. "I didn't think you needed my input," he said as he nosed softly under Laurent's jaw. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough."

"I thought I was enjoying you." 

"Were you," Damen said warmly, muffled against Laurent's skin.

He kissed there lightly, a warm drag of his mouth along Laurent's neck and jaw and lips until Laurent let out a soft sigh and pressed the heel of his boot against the back of Damen's thigh, urging his hips into a slow rocking that, if it weren't for the chafe of Laurent's laced pants against his sensitive skin, Damen would have sustained forever. Even so, he tried; it was only when Laurent pushed him upright with a knee against his stomach that Damen stilled.

"These have to go," Laurent said decisively, fingers pulling deftly at the laces of his pants. 

Damen agreed wholeheartedly, but couldn't resist the urge to bend his head and take that hand, kiss those same fingers, then palm and finely-boned wrist, even as they were doing exactly what he wanted. Laurent laughed; it lit something in Damen's chest, warmer and brighter than even touch. He moved his hand to Damen's hair and said, fondly, "Go away."

Damen pushed himself up to kneel between Laurent's knees. "Am I not helping?" 

"Not at all. Stay there," he said, and placed his booted foot against Damen's flushed chest to force compliance - which made Damen want, with equal force, to both do as Laurent asked and fall against him again. 

He leaned into the pressure. Laurent matched it.

When he looked up he found himself being watched: Laurent had pushed himself up onto an elbow, and his eyes were dark and fixed intently on Damen's face. 

With deliberate slowness, he slid his foot down until it was pressed instead against the tensed muscles of Damen's abdomen. They were riding boots, soft leather soles made to slide easily out of a stirrup and warmed by Laurent's skin, hugging perfectly to the shape of him but for the little bit of give at the ankle, which was creased supple with use.

Laurent asked, lightly, "Will you brace it for me?"

"Yes," Damen said. He felt out of breath.

"Good," Laurent said, and slid his foot down again, lower, perfectly fitting the arch of his boot over the flushed width of Damen's cock. 

Damen breathed out. It sounded too loud in the quiet, cutting through the air harshly like something serrated. He widened his knees and forced himself to be still, to be calm, to not rock forward against the strange, inviting pressure that kept his cock trapped between Laurent's boot and his own hip.

After a moment he lifted his hands, clasping boot heel and calf firmly. He thought: I have done this a thousand times.

But not like this. He'd never held Laurent against himself, thrill tingling like tiny sparks of lightning up his spine, like this. And, instead of pulling, Laurent had never pressed in.

Damen's fingers skittered over the leather; his whole body bowed, curling in around the center from which pleasure emanated with a force that shocked him. He looked up at Laurent, eager and wary.

Laurent, head tilted, watched him with interest. His own breathing was even but the flush had spread a little, a gentle splash of pink across his chest. After a moment, he said, "Yes?"

"Yes," Damen echoed, a gasp. And then: "But."

Laurent didn't frown, but the fluid ease of his features stilled in expectant concern.

"But," Damen continued, "I prefer you to get something out of what we do together too." His gaze flicked automatically to Laurent's waist, where the ties were loosened but still held the heavy fabric closed.

Laurent's expression shifted. "Do you think me unaffected? Still?"

"No, but--"

"Is that your only objection?" When nothing further was immediately forthcoming Laurent continued, softer, "Take what I want to give you." The flush deepened. "Pleasure."

He punctuated the words with a slow build of pressure at Damen's groin and an even slower release. Damen arched into it, knees braced, and nodded mindlessly. He felt far away here at the foot of the bed, but that firm, kneading rhythm of push and release and the absurd sweetness of knowing how well Damen could fit himself against every perfect contour of Laurent's body soothed his yearning for proximity: he was exactly where Laurent wanted him, and exactly where he wanted to be. 

The leather was very warm, and very pliant. Damen held the smooth arch of it against himself and moved with Laurent's movements, giving himself over to noisome pleasure until his focus ribboned and, gasping, he spilled where he was pinned against the crease of his hip and thigh.

Distantly, he became aware that he was stroking the toe of Laurent's boot with his thumb, tenderly, as if it needed to be gentled. He straightened slowly, head low and eyes drowsily shuttered. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled the room.

Eventually, Laurent said, "I did also want my boots off. In addition. It wasn't wholly out of charity."

Damen laughed, helpless, and looked up in time to see both the affectionate smile that transformed Laurent's face and the shy, almost furtive way he lifted his hand from the join of tie and fabric at his waist, which lay a little more open now, exposing a very narrow sliver of the pink, warm fullness of his cock. It was hardly enough to touch, but the thought that Laurent had been holding himself while he watched Damen lose his mind made him feel heated.

"You," Laurent said carefully, "Affect me."

"You affect me," Damen said, heartfelt.

"I think my boot affected you."

Damen shook his head, then lifted Laurent's leg so that he could brace his foot against Damen's chest. This time, Laurent pulled. The leather sagged in Damen's hands, somehow no longer imbued with the allure it had held only a few minutes ago. He blinked at it, then dropped it on the floor and held his hands out for the other.

Fully divested, as Damen had at one point intended him, Laurent fell back once more from where he'd been propped on his elbow to sprawl almost exactly as he had been. The only difference now was that he was a little pinker, his breathing a little more uneven, and, lacking boots and pants, there was more milk-white skin to be warmed in contrast to the starker white upon which it lay.

This time, Damen didn't hesitate: he lay beside Laurent immediately, sparing a moment only for a luxuriant stretch of his newly languid muscles before, with a hand at the small of his back, coaxing Laurent first into the circle of his arms and then, lower, between his thighs.

"And what, exactly," Laurent said, "Would you be getting out of this?"

Damen kissed the shell of his ear. "Stop it."

"But you see my point."

"I see you trying to win an argument."

"Succeeding, thank you, I think you'll find." Damen tensed his thighs: a futile distraction tactic, because after a gratifying shiver of pause, Laurent added, "I suppose you think it's very different when it's you."

"In a way," Damen conceded, which seemed to be sufficient for now; Laurent quieted to laboured breathing and, as his own impossibly gentle thrusts and Damen's lips drew him near, the soft, intimate sounds that passed, endearingly, for wild abandon. 

Damen held him for some time after. Laurent seemed to have no interest in moving yet, opting instead to tuck his face into the warm, close space between Damen's neck and the pillow, and Damen in turn had no interest in rousing him: Laurent lying sated and restful in his arms instead of retreating to gather himself alone was a rare and precious thing. Instead Damen quietly regretted in advance his own need to get up, although he would have to soon; falling asleep with their seed, however romantically mingled, on the inside of his thighs was an idea he found vaguely distasteful.

On the other hand, Laurent was drowsily stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, so Damen lingered long enough that eventually Laurent said, "In what way? In what way is it different, I mean." 

It occurred to Damen that while he had been savouring the uncomplicated tenderness of the moment, Laurent had been executing an agenda.

He said, "I... enjoy it when you enjoy it."

Laurent looked up at him. "Are you under the impression that I didn't?"

Damen paused. "Well. No."

"You're very," Laurent said, "Generous. Do you think I don't want to be, in return?"

"No," Damen said honestly.

"Then you agree with me." Imperious.

Damen couldn't help smiling. "Yes. I agree," he said, because it was clear Laurent wanted to hear those words exactly. And it was sincere, but still he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Are you pleased?"

Laurent sat, making to get out of bed, then hesitated. With a carefulness that seemed almost solemn, he touched Damen's hand and said, "Yes."


End file.
